


Spin the Bottle of Doom, and Other Awful Party Tricks

by hamletmustdie



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Confessions, Ikrens arent supposed to feel this way, Language, M/M, Make Outs, ZaDr, pining? a little, they're in hi-skool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamletmustdie/pseuds/hamletmustdie
Summary: Zim narrowed his eyes. “What is this spinning of the bottle game you speak of?”





	Spin the Bottle of Doom, and Other Awful Party Tricks

         Zim threw open the front door to the house, hard. It struck the wall with a  _ SLAM _ . Dib grimaced.

        “I can’t  _ believe _ they didn’t invite Zim to such a  _ horrible  _ and disgusting congregation!” Zim threw his coat onto the overloaded coat rack at the door of Torque Smacky’s house. He missed and the jacket, black, with many pockets because Zim insisted he needed them, fell into a heap on the floor.

“You stole Torque’s liver in fifth grade. Of course he didn’t invite you.” Dib hadn’t taken off his own coat. He didn’t want to. He jammed his hands deep into the pockets and eyed the crowd in the foyer.

  
      “Ugh, he  _ still  _ cares about  _ that _ ?” Zim scoffed, crossing his arms.

       The house was loud, the windows had been flashing with lights and the music made the window panes shudder. A few eyes roamed their way as they entered; Dib recognized a few faces from hi-skool. How many people were here? Any adults?  _ And why the hell was I invited?  _ Torque hadn’t liked him since like, what, eighth grade? Feeling already too many eyes on him, Dib looked down, towards Zim.

Zim was scowling. “This is _disgusting,_ ” he muttered to himself. “What is that wretched sound?” Dib shrugged. It sounded like some pop song he heard on the radio often.

        The surrounding events did not look fun, not at all. Dib saw red solo cups with curious contents within them, so that seemed good, but everything else, the tightly packed rooms, the overloud, shitty music, the high, squealing laughter. Some guys chased a few girls from the back door in the kitchen, dripping wet from the no doubt freezing outdoor pool.

       Dib had spent the prior two and half hours on the phone, texting Zim to come with him to this, ending in a dispute at Zim’s front door. Zim had been entirely uninterested until Dib had given up, telling him bitterly that Zim hadn’t been invited anyway. Then, the alien had demanded he accompany Dib in case the party-goers were “discussing stolen information about his base,” or “planning on exposing him publicly”.

       Dib had groaned but he’d secretly been relieved… Because he’d never been invited to something like this, a late night, parents-out-of-town-so-let’s-trash-the-house sort of get up. He hadn’t even been to a birthday party since he was thirteen, and that was five years ago and for a cousin no less. It didn’t count. And truthfully, Zim hadn’t been his usual self. They hadn’t spent much time together lately. Usually, Dib took Zim to school in the car his father had bought him just the year earlier. Zim complained about the stale cigarette smell and the crumbs and the empty McMeaty’s cups in the middle console, but he still climbed in every morning. Dib had even put a little cushion in the passenger seat for the tiny alien. Lately, however, Zim had been walking, or taking the bus. Bickering with him less. Spending more time alone, hunkered down in his base, busying himself with death traps and strange, convoluted blueprints to plans that never saw the light of day.

         It made something strange shift in Dib’s chest, and he knew why. He’d been thinking about that night-

         No, no, Zim had made him promise not to talk about it, or even  _ think _ about it. And while that was impossible, Dib had tried. It was the only way to get Zim to make eye contact with him anymore...

“They don’t even realize I’m _here_ , do they?” Zim hissed, facing Dib, grinning mischievously. “One of their own has allowed me entrance to this, _par-tee,”_

“Well, they’re going to realize you’re here now, so. You cover’s blown. Come on,” Dib took a breath and strode forward through the people towards the kitchen. He supposed he could get a drink. Zim followed him closely behind, cringing from the bodies that pressed against him.

There really wasn’t much for either of them to do here, save for grab some drinks and huddle in a corner. Zim had his sharp tongue stuck out just slightly in distaste as they moved.

In the kitchen amongst all the trash so far accumulated from the party, Dib found stacks of red cups and various types of liquor. So much to choose from…

Drinking alone with Zim seemed like maybe an interesting idea. Especially in their current climate. Would he open up at all, or would his body just reject the drink entirely? Probably the former.

“Ah yes,” Zim was rubbing his stupid claws together behind him. “All the drinks for the humans, gathered in one place, all at once… How easy would I be to slip something-”

“No.” Dib cut him off right away. “Don’t touch any of this. Tell me what you want and I’ll grab it for you.”

Standing only three foot ten, the counter was just a little bit over his head. Even on his tiptoes, his eyes could barely peer over it. He shot Dib a dirty look before eyeing what he could.

He pointed, an awful grin filling his face, “That one,” Dib furrowed his brow. A bottle of liquor, brown and half-full. He shook his head, pouring himself something (a tad too much of that something, one might say, but hey. Who cared.) and grabbed something else for Zim instead.

“Here,” Dib handed him a purple bottle of Poop Cola. Zim glared at it like a bitter child.

“What is _this_?”

“You know what it is-” But Zim had crushed the can, claws digging into it as he stared venomously up at Dib. Soda sprayed onto the floor as Dib flinched back to avoid it. Zim had been quicker to dramatic violence, too, lately with Dib. Like when they were kids - _real_ kids. “What the hell, Zim-”

“I don’t want _this-_ I want the human alcohol! Give it to me!” He held out an expectant hand, tossing the cola can, crumpled, onto the counter.

“Wha- no, you don’t need any!” Dib took a step back until he felt the kitchen counter behind him, clutching his cup close to his chest. “Who knows what it’ll do to you?”

“How _dare_ you tell the almighty Zim no!” Zim had come closer, reaching for it and Dib held it up, grinning as Zim tried to reach up.

“Zim, you can’t drink any alcohol!”

“Of course I can!” Zim snapped, pressed hard against him as he tried to reach. The cups contents were spilling as Zim jerked him. “Now _gimme_!”

“Zim! Dib! Oh, perfect,” A voice chimed in from behind. They both froze, Zim halfway to climbing up Dib. Dib recognized the owner of the voice as she stopped just before them, clapping her hands together. Nadia? Nan...cy? Something like that, from home room class. “We need two more players, for our game. No one wants to play with us-”

“Game?” Dib asked. As soon as he slackened his stance, Zim jumped and snatched the cup from him, nearly taking off his glasses as he did. He scowled but decided to ignore him. If he wanted to poison himself with something he couldn’t consume, fine. He deserved that much. Zim hissed in victory then peered into the cup. “What game?”

Nancy or Nadia or whoever she was, was a little under five foot three, with bouncy brown hair and warm eyes beneath horn rimmed glasses. If she wasn’t so cute, she might’ve been considered ultra-nerdy, like himself. But she lacked the awkward ramblings and lankiness Dib had been unable to escape since age eleven. He’d grown taller, yeah, and his voice was less high, but he was knobbier, with awkward stubble and poor posture.

“Spin the bottle!”

“Oh. That’s sorta cliche, don’t you think?” He chuckled softly. She laughed.

“Yeah, but we’ve got a beer bottle and everything, like some stupid movie! It’ll be fun, come on! And bring Zim,” She had begun to point to Zim, but that hadn’t been what made Dib turn. Behind him, Zim hacked and choked, before throwing the nearly empty cup aside.

“Wha- _what_ is th-that- _disgusting_ \- _toxic waste-_ ” Zim sputtered, gasping, spitting what he had drunk.

“I told you not to drink it, dumbass,” Zim reacted to everything differently. Just last month they’d been walking to Dib’s car, leaving class early because Dib was convinced he’d seen something in the woods on the drive to skool just the other day, something big and hairy and with red eyes. On the way there, they’d passed the smoking area behind the skool and been offered a blunt. Now, Dib was not against a hit here or there, but Zim? He couldn’t stand him sober and chances were he couldn’t stand him high, either. But Zim had gotten curious when the offer-er had teased that he was too afraid to try it. By that point it had been too late, Zim was beyond reasoning, and so he’d tried it, and coughed and hacked all the way home, tearing up and scrambling into his base, demanding Gir get him to the medical bay ‘ _right away, the enemy has poisoned Z-Zim, I - Gir, li-listen to me- help me, your master is- is dy-dying-’_

       He’d collapsed in the kitchen, but he’d been fine, as Dib had insisted he would be. Zim couldn’t help but being dramatic. It was likely (unintentionally) programmed into his stupid PAK. Dib never got to learn what he thought he saw lurking in the woods that day

       “What is this?” Zim hissed, eyeing Dib, as he pointed at the discarded cup, “What is it? What’s in this?  _ Zim DEMANDS you tell him what’s-”  _ His voice rising, he drew in a few onlookers and Dib nervously waved his hands.

        “It’s just beer for Chist’s sake, Zim, now stop making a scene!”

        “But it-”

“We need just two more players,” Nadia or Nancy said, smiling between them, “and you two are perfect! Please! _Please?”_

Zim finally seemed to notice her.

“ _What?_ What is it you’re rambling about?”

“She wants us to play spin the bottle,”

Zim narrowed his eyes. “What is this  _ spinning of the bottle  _ game you speak of?”

“You, uh- you spin... A bottle,” She began, pulling back as Zim drew suspiciously nearer. “And, people sorta- you dare each other, I? I guess-”

“Don’t explain it to him,” Dib jerked Zim back until he stumbled into him. “He won’t get it anyway. To be honest, we-”

“A _dare_?” Zim asked. “As in _Truth or Dare_ in which you force confidential secrets from your peers?”

“... Sure?”

Dib was rolling his eyes, “Zim, you’re not gonna like it anyway,” He didn’t want to play _spin the fucking bottle_ with a bunch of stupid, drunk teenagers. In fact, he wanted to turn around and leave here. This was stupid. And crowded. And loud. And busy. And he was getting anxious.

“Zim wants to play!” Zim demanded, lifting one clenched fist eagerly. Nadia or Nancy smiled, clapping two hands together.

“Yay! Come on, then, everyone’s upstairs!” She spun to lead them there. Although Dib had not consented to this game, Zim turned to grip his forearm. Zim’s claws were usually warm, but in this cold weather it took him forever to warm up once inside. Dib could feel the coolness even through the gloves, the sleeves… Or perhaps that was just his imagination. Zim might’ve stomped forward, dragging Dib behind, but the touch had startled them both.

For an instant, Zim’s eyes widened then he jerked his hand away, scowling.

“You _will_ join Zim to play this game,” he muttered, “ _right,_ Pig meat?”

Dib touched the place Zim had grabbed. “Uhm. I’m not really interested in spin the bottle-”

“ _Play_ with Zim or I will put brain eating parasites in your bed sheets again!”

“Geez, that again, Zim?” Dib rubbed his forehead. Zim was still glaring at him. “God, fine. But- I know we just got here but, do you wanna just, maybe, go somewhere else, after this-” Why did this sound like a very, very weak attempt to ask Zim on a date? Internally, Dib groaned.

“Leave here, before we’ve even gotten any of the stupid participants deeply important secrets and plans? Absolutely not! We leave when Zim says we leave! Now come with me!” If it had been an attempted date offer, Dib had been rejected. Oh well. At least Zim still said _‘we’_ in regards to world domination and destruction of humanity. Dib had never agreed to that one, but when they’d made their truce years ago, they’d agreed to help _each other._ Which was an oxymoron in and of itself, and predicted that eventually, they’d foil each other’s plans which had been concocted together, in unison. Zim didn’t seem aware of the fluke in their contract.

Through the living room and up the stairs, Dib kept his head down and allowed himself to be led. The car ride here had been mostly quiet. Boring music and everlasting commercial breaks. Dib had said Zim’s name, once, sounding all soft and ready to talk, which had been instantly answered with a snarled, “ _If you say what I think you are going to say, I will shove your pathetic body from your own, moving vehicle._ ”

 

“Here we are,” Nancy or whoever brought them to a cracked door in the hallway, between two family photos.

Dib peered into the bedroom. A red lava lamp was all that kept it lit. Posters of sports teams, a rock band, and scantily clad women lined the walls. _Torque’s room._ A few weight lifting trophies were standing proud behind a glass case, and the bed was unmade. A pile of smelly clothes stood in the corner. In the middle of the room, a circle of eight or so students.

“So, the bottle will dare me to do something? Something vile, of course, yes?” Zim hissed to him in a whisper as they entered the room.

“Uh. No,” Dib sighed, leaning towards him, “you spin the bottle when it’s your turn, and… Do whatever the prompt is.” Zim was squinting at him, clearly not following. “Just watch and you’ll get it, okay?”

“Will the bottle tell me my prompt?”

“Yes, sure, yeah. Now shut up.”

“Do not tell me to shut up, _Dib-Thing._ ” Zim hissed, marching ahead of him. _So annoying._

Among the other players were almost solely students from their school, although thankfully Torque did not seem to be playing. Dib had heard him downstairs in a drinking contest, and he was sure that a severely drunk Torque would most certainly not beat an uninvited Zim half to death. No, of course not.

       “Last two players!” Nancy or Nadia announced, dropping into a spot between two other girls. Zim took a spot beside another student and patted the empty spot to his right aggressively. Dib took it. Zim was grinning. At least  _ he _ was happy to be here.

       “Took you long enough,” Lars, a senior older than Dib with far too many piercings, clapped his hands together, eyeing Dib briefly. “Alright, everyone knows the rules to spin the bottle… No backing out, you’re stuck here ‘til the game ends.” He smoothed his hand over his chest. “Alright.  _ I’m _ first. What are our dares?”

       “They can’t be  _ too gross, _ ” One of the girls giggled.

       “What does that even mean? Like, we can’t make out, or,”

       “ _ Well _ ,” Someone sighed and more giggling and inappropriate comments were made.

        Zim nudged Dib’s arm and whispered, “ _ I don’t understand. The dares are meant to be gross, aren’t they?” _

_        "Not in the way you think, Zim,”  _ Dib whispered back.

_        “What does that mean?!”  _ When the game finally did begin, Dim waited for realization to dawn on Zim at the very nature of a party version of Spin the Bottle. Tragically, it never really did. Even when shots were poured to unlucky spinners or strangers were forced to get touchy, he still had that gleam of mischief in his eyes. As if somehow the rules would twist violently for him when it came his turn. By the way they were playing, Zim would go  _ after  _ Dib. He wondered how that would go. Before he knew it, Lars was staring at him.

“Alright Dibster,” Lars pointed to Dib with a ringed finger. “Your turn. Let’s see… What for you, what for you…” He eyed a few of the girls in the group, among them being a pretty young girl named Caroline Morris. Her hair was jet black, long, and she was almost always smiling. Dib cringed when Lars’ gaze lingered just a moment too long on her. Last year, before the school dance, Dib had shyly asked Caroline to the school dance… And been politely, but firmly rejected. Because she had been dating Lars then, and while they were ex’s now, Dib could see the two birds with one stone aspect here. He frowned. “Seven minutes in Heaven with whoever gets next.”

Of course, the bottle could land on anyone, but given his luck…

Several members of the circle pulled back, making ew-ing sounds.

“No, that’s stupid,” Dib muttered.

“Are you backing out of the game?”

Zim leaned forward before Dib could answer, “You are contractually obligated to the bottle, Dib, _you must finish the game._ ” God, Zim didn’t know a joke when it was pressed up against his face, did he? Dib rolled his eyes.

“Fuck, fine.” He muttered. Could it be so bad? Seven minutes was just a little longer than five… And Jesus, was he really so unattractive? No, he shouldn’t have asked himself that question. His self-esteem had hit the high road when he was about nine or ten. He reached forward and spun the stupid thing.

“If you had been kicked from the game, who would I, _Zim,_ get to beat? _Hmm?_ ” Zim whispered.

“Everyone can hear you,” Dib said, “so quit trying to whisper.”

Caroline gave Dib a fleeting glance; she seemed as aware of the situation as he was, and Lars was kicked back, grinning that stupid grin of his. He was such a fucking punk.

The bottle spun and spun and suddenly Dib knew exactly where it was going to fall, because who the hell else would he be damned to seven minutes in heaven with?

        Not fucking Caroline Morris from third period.

        The bottle slowed to a stop, pointing at Zim who was grinning, grinning, likely thinking the same thing… And with a very different idea as to what seven minutes in heaven entailed. Dread settled over Dib as he groaned, palmed his forehead. A brief silence fell, followed by cackling... from Zim.

“Looks like you two losers get the closet,” Lars grinned wickedly at Dib who rolled his eyes. Zim was almost a better joke than Caroline, because he was well… A guy (an alien, but no one knew that), and that was _hilarious._

“So, I take on Dib- _shit_ , huh?! How will we fight, to the death or-” Zim had begun to lean forward when he was cut off as someone had grabbed his forearm, lifting him up. The circle had already broken up eagerly into giggles and snickers at their behest.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dib rose before he could be grabbed, shrugging an arm away. Zim was squirming wildly, hissing at whoever touched him.

           The closet was in Torque’s own room. If they were allowed to use it for such,  _ ahem, _ curious purposes, Dib didn’t know. Someone tugged open the door and revealed varsity jackets, football uniforms, and sports t-shirts. Boxes of old knick-knacks and hand me downs littered the floor, although there was shockingly plenty of space to move around in. Torque’s closet was thankfully large. A string dangled from the ceiling where a lightbulb hung.

          Unceremoniously, they were shoved into the closet, into the clothes hung up. The door closed with a  _ BAM  _ behind them. Dib snatched the string as quickly as he could, throwing the light on.

         “What is this?” Zim demanded as he whirled to face their exit. There came next a click of the lock, followed by laughter. Futility, Zim grasped at the door knob, twisting it, shaking the door frame. “How  _ dare _ you confine Zim to such  _ tiny quarters  _ with the Dib!  _ Let me out!” _

_“Your seven minutes begins now, losers!”_ A voice half cried, half laughed on the other side.

“This is just part of the game, Zim,” Dib sighed.

“What? How is this a _game?_ What pathetic trick are you trying to pull on me? What are we doing? Why aren’t we fighting? They haven’t given us our weapons! This was a trick all along, wasn’t it, Dib- _thing?!_ ” He glanced around frantically, knocking into clothes hanging from above. There was a box of old comic books off to the side, and a garbage bag of clothes perhaps once meant for a thrift shop. Dib almost sighed again, as Zim nosed about for something to hit him with.

_           Oh, this is funny, _ Dib thought sulkily.  _ I’m in the closet. And Zim is here, too. _

          Did Irken’s have identities?

          No, that would be stupid… They didn’t seem to even have proper  _ emotions, _ or at least, most of them did not. Zim was an outlier. He was  _ too _ emotional.

          Dib had yet to tell his father, sister, or anyone of his curiosities towards the same gender. Sure, girls were great, but boys could be, too… And then there were his other curiosities, like the one’s regarding the other species across from him. But xenophilia was… Not illegal yet. Dib decided it should be, and then shoved the thought away.

           More laughter from the other side of the door. The blaring of music downstairs.  _ I should’ve stayed home…  _ He had homework to do anyways… But it was Friday night, and usually on Friday night’s he and Zim went with flashlights into the woods after Dib had told him a cornfield just a mile or so over had had a crop circle once. Zim still didn’t believe crop circles were extra-terrestrial methods of communication. He thought that was stupid - and while, yes, technically Zim was the true expert on all things alien, Dib was still pretty certain he was wrong. He just hadn’t met the aliens who did it. But the last two weeks they hadn’t met for their usual outings. Dib very well knew the reason for that. The reason Zim hadn’t said much on the drive here, or many other of the drive’s in the past several days. They still hung out. They still sat together at lunch. But Zim was a touch weirder about it. He didn’t sit so close anymore and he wouldn’t meet Dib’s eye so easily.

            Zim gave up on the door. “Oh, I  _ knew it, _ ” he hissed, sounding venomous. He slid down the door onto the floor and a single PAK leg struck out from behind him, placing a communication device into his hands.

           “ _ Come in, Gir!” _ He whispered into it.

           “What are you doing?” Dib quirked a brow. Zim ignored him.

           “He-LOOO,” Gir’s grating voice sprang from the device.

           “ _ Come get me, immediately! I’ve been trapped with the Dib into a small, human unit, likely used for- for- for Irk know’s what! So come get me!” _

          “Hey, wait, no, no Gir, don’t do that-” Dib crawled forward to grab the device from Zim, who held it as far from him as he could. “Hey, no fair! You can’t leave, you said you’d come with me-”

          “You didn’t tell me they would  _ kidnap  _ us! I should have known this  _ par-tee _ would be something nefarious. Do you think I couldn’t tell something was strange about you lately, Dib- _ filth?! _ Since you got those- strange contraptions in your ears,” he pointed an accusing claw to Dib’s ears. Dib had gotten gages with his sister months ago. Zim had hated them, or at least was bitterly curious about them since. “You’re smellier and taller and your voice is strange now, you’ve been planning this haven’t you, whatever this is- to expose Zim by contracting him to  _ the bottle’s will. _ Well, if you think you’ve fooled the elite Zi-”

          Dib wasn’t sure what puberty had to do with the current events, but, this was Zim he was talking to.

         “Zim this is a game, it’s a fucking game! We sit in here for seven minutes and, just- we uh-” He shook his head, “It’s a party game, Zim, it’s meant to be funny!”

_          “What? _ ” Zim hissed and Dib fell backwards, exasperated.

         “This is just a game. In seven minutes, they’ll open the door and let us out. That’s it.”

        “A game?!” Gir’s voice startled both of them and Zim jerked his gaze from Dib to the communication device he still clutched. “I wanna play! Let me play! I wanna-”

While Gir shrieked, Zim gazed back at Dib, narrowing his eyes. Dib returned the gesture.

“Don’t,”

“Gir-”

“Zim, I swear-”

“Gir, _COME GET ME!”_

“If you leave, I will be _so_ pissed off with you, I won’t help you with your American history homework anymore and you can fail!”

“Zim doesn’t need-”

“Ohh,” Gir’s voice half moaned on the other line, “so many- who do I listen to- master or- or Mary- aaahh-” His ah-ing grew louder in pitch until suddenly there came a loud explosion. Zim and Dib stared at the device, blinking. Seconds passed, and suddenly, distantly, as though Gir had walked from the mic (which was strange, given the mic was a part of him), came the words, “Aw man-”

It cut out.

“Now look what you’ve done, you stupid, conspiring monkey! You’ve destroyed my SIR unit!”

“I had nothing to do with that!” Dib snapped. “And he’s probably fine! He always is!” At least Zim was stuck with him now. On the other side of the door, just faintly over the music, Dib could hear sniggering. This is just what they knew would happen, he thought. _We’d just argue and bicker and fight._ Somehow, the other kids from skool had never grown tired of their debacles. Although, recently, they’d calmed… become something more of only occasional muttering and quiet arguing.

         Dib sighed while Zim grumbled and crossed his arms over his shirt. Since they’d grown just a  _ touch _ chummier, Dib had convinced Zim to dress more like a human. Of course, this suggestion was met with mild ire and offense at first; Zim felt he blended in better than Dib himself. He’d had to explain to him that people who wore the same, strange, fuchsia colored tunic every day to skool and outings did not look normal at all. A few trips to the mall and department stores, and Zim had a small wardrobe of mainly black, purple, and anything remotely resembling fuscia to choose from. Tonight, he’d picked a v-neck black t-shirt and pair of tight-fitting black jeans. He still kept his boots and gloves. Of course, while shopping, they’d had no luck in the youth’s section. Dib had been holding back laughter as Zim sifted through hangers of children’s clothes, unaware.

He wondered how much of their time remained. Had it been five minutes already...? Who knew. A shame, maybe, but what had he expected? _Well..._

“If this is a game,” Zim began suddenly, “which I do not believe you when you say it is, what is it that we are supposed to do?”

_Oh._

“Uh,” Dib shifted where he sat from across Zim. The closet was hot. The little light cast shadows down Zim’s face which made him look angrier. “We’re supposed to… like… I don’t know-” Dib stopped short.

“What? Supposed to _what_?” Zim leaned forward.

“Uh-”

“Gouge out each other’s eyes?”

“.. No,”

“Perform two vivisections at once?”

         “What? Good God, Zim, no...!”

“Then what is it?!”

“If you’d quit trying to guess, then I’d tell you!” Dib raised his arms furiously and Zim shrunk back, crossing his arms again. Dib sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s supposed to- ugh, it’s supposed to be… you know… S… Sexual. We’re supposed to make out or, like- uh. Feel each other u-”

“ _WHAAT?! THAT’S DISGUSTING!”_

“Is it?” Dib asked, apathetic, and was surprised at how Zim’s eyes widened with fury.

“Yes! Zim would never-”

“We did the other week,”

Zim’s mouth was wide and his teeth shone in the tiny light above them both, disbelieving… _Well,_ Dib thought, _perhaps it hadn’t been_ that _intense. But still..._

“We-... I wou- never _ever_ \- with the _enemy?_ Have you the brain worms, I-”

Dib sighed and it was enough to make Zim quit sputtering. A strange flush, one Dib had seen before, had crept into Zim’s high cheekbones.

Dib shrugged. “You asked. That’s the game,”

“What a primitive, stupid game.” He said quietly, withdrawing further into himself, looking pointedly away.  A moment passed and suddenly Zim growled. “Ugh! You’re disgusting,” He began to stand and reach for the door. Dib would have let him leave had he not stopped himself. He cursed again, in Irken, before sitting back down. “That cursed bottle! Why did I let you bring me here?”

Dib was drumming his fingers against the carpet, “Why won’t you let me think about the other-”

“Because it’s disgusting!”

“God, will you relax, Zim? I know you’re Irken and all, but give yourself a break. Humans, they- they… You know, do stuff like that all th-”

“ _Why_ would I _ever_ want to lower myself to the standards of a human?”

“Why are you so unwilling to just enjoy something for once?” Dib asked. Zim was grimacing, his claws clenched into tight fists against the carpet. The contacts made him look strange if one had seen him without them before. Perhaps that was for the best, right now; he looked scary without them when he was pissed.

“I didn’t enjoy _any of it,_ Dib-thing. If you think I did any of it for anything other than to understand all of your many, _many_ weaknesses, which you have, then you are sorely mistaken!”

The closet felt tight and hot and terrible. Zim had begun to lean forward and Dib had, too. The air was stifled. The noise outside had become far away background noise, nonexistent. He could hear his blood raging in his head like it did when he was so worked up. He was gritting his teeth, making his head ache. But still, despite the anger, something shifted painfully in his chest. For all he knew, Zim meant that. He likely didn’t care. What was new?

“Fine.” Dib hissed. “Fine. Fine. Like I give a fuck,”

“Like I give any fucks, either!”

“Yeah, I bet you don’t.” He was breathing heavy, promising himself he was done because their time in here was likely nearly over, and he’d leave as soon as it was. Zim could get his own ride home, or he could walk. He could call Gir and fly home. His anger remained in his chest, rising back up his throat. “God. God, you’re such an asshole! You’re the one, who came to my hou-”

“Shut up!”

“To my _bedroom,_ and you-”

“Zim commanded you to _shut_ _up!”_

“You’re the one who did it first!”

“I said _shut up!”_ Zim lunged at him, shoving the box of comic books aside as he shoved Dib to the ground. He clawed at his face, hissing, trying to tear hair, rip his glasses aside. Zim had broken them twice in the past. Zim threw back one hand, tightened it into fist. Dib barely caught it before it reached his right eye.

“W-will you _quit it!”_ He managed to shout, holding the alien back with just enough willpower.

“I told _you to quit it!_ ”

“Y-you were being a dick!”

“How on _Irk_ could I do that, Dib- _shit!_ I’m an Irken, not a-” He was cut off when Dib kneed him in the gut, knocking the breath from him. Coughing meekly, Zim rolled off of him, and Dib scrambled away.

        “You’re such a moron! If you really didn’t care, why are you acting like such a child?”

        Zim clutched his middle, snarling at him, “I  _ don’t  _ care-”

        “Then what’s your problem!?”

        “Wh-what’s-...  _ your  _ problem?!”

        Dib felt something huge and angry rise up within him and he gritted his teeth, leaned forward, rose a fist- then gave pause. This wasn’t fucking getting anywhere. Circles, circles, it was always crop circles with Zim! Just endless argument! Dib would say one thing and Zim would always make sure to say the other, just to keep the conversation heated. It was absolutely exhausting.

        Zim was staring at him, waiting, waiting. His stupid wig was lopsided and sharp lines met at the middle of his forehead. He was gasping. Dib would be lying if didn’t think he looked… Interesting, right now.

But that didn’t matter because Dib was pissed and was deciding, right now, right this moment that he’d say what had been on his tongue since that night.

“You may not care-”

“I _don’t-_ ”

“Okay! Whatever! Don’t interrupt me!” He waited a moment but Zim just watched him, and he watched him back. Dib swallowed. “... If you don’t care, then _fine._ Whatever. But… But you have to know, that I… That this- whatever the hell _this_ is- no, _no_ don’t say anything! Just shut up! -... It’s- it’s annoying, to say the least. And people- humans, they don’t… Take well to it. So maybe I shouldn’t tell you any of this because you’ll just use it against me, or all of humanity, or whatever, but I’m telling you, Zim, because we are, in a way, _friends._ Or, ‘allies’, if you like that better. Okay? The other night, I know you _hate hearing_ about it, but it- it was-.... I had-...” He was beginning to lose his ground here. Dib slumped his shoulders. He looked aside, then sucked in a breath, meeting Zim’s glare again. He seemed to jump when Dib did it again, blinking as though he’d expected Dib to give in and shut up. “... I… I’d thought about those types of things, before, and I wasn’t too unhappy about…” He steeled himself for his next string of words, squeezing his eyes shut a moment, “G-getting to, you know, touch. You. And- do that other thing. The. The Ki...ssing… One… And if you don’t ever want to talk about it again, then like I said, _fine!_ But it would just drive me crazy if you didn’t let me at least say all this. I can’t- people can’t keep those types of things to themselves, it’s- it’s awful, Zim…” A brief silence fell in which Dib watched Zim very carefully, waiting for some nasty remark or insult. Instead, the silence remained. Dib heaved a sigh of half relief, half something else. “Alright. Okay. I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. And kneeing you in the, uh-”

“Spooch.” Zim said lowly.

“Uh, yeah, that. I just. I needed to tell you. That’s it. I’m done.” He sighed again. Was it cliché to say he felt some of the weight lift off his chest? He even managed a tiny, weak smile.

       He wasn’t particularly  _ happy _ about this situation, but God he’d been thinking of that night, two weeks ago since it’d happened…

       Zim knocking on his window, climbing through when he’d let him in. They’d planned a movie night and Dib had been waiting for him, to show him his favorite alien films that he felt would  _ not _ offend Zim. He’d guessed wrong, of course, but it had still been fun. They’d stayed up late, and Dib had fallen asleep sometime around 3 AM…

        But something had woken him up.

        Zim didn’t sleep. He didn’t need to. Zim had explained this all to Dib sometime in the past, how the PAK on his back kept everything about him charged. Zim had said he didn’t mind having time to himself in Dib’s room, he had his tablet and other little technologies to work away on. But that night, as Dib had slept, something had made him stir.

        Something had made him reciprocate… Something. Then, he’d cracked open one eye, then the next. It wasn’t dark, and instantly he knew that wasn’t right, because everything in front of him was bright, bright fuchsia. Gasping, he’d realized something was covering his mouth, and he’d scrambled away and Zim had, too, looking panicked and horrified, PAK legs already activated although he wasn’t climbing away yet, simply building a little wall between them.

Dib had been woozy with sleep, confused, dragged suddenly from some unrelated dream. His bedroom was never very dark at night. Dozens of little glo-in-the-dark stars stuck the ceiling since he’d been a kid, glo-in-the-dark posters he liked too much to remove, and his alarm clock, blinking the time in red letters. Zim staring at him, staring, not speaking, big, bug eyes, almost trembling, little chest rising and falling rapidly. Dib, feeling strange and faintly aware of what was going on, and his lips had felt just a bit wet where his mouth was dry.

Huh.

It had taken a while to calm Zim down. He hadn’t tried to leave and technically, Dib was the one who should’ve been worried - even Zim had pointed this out. Dib had been completely vulnerable, he’d said, he could have killed him, found out exactly what made Humans tick, where to stick the pointy end should Zim finally get the chance, and yet-

_“You_ kissed _me?”_ Dib had said it six times over the course of an hour, and each time Zim had shaken his head, claimed he didn’t know what that was. “Oh please, I know you’re not that stupid, Zim, we took Sex ED together in fifth grade, remember?!” But that had just offended him further. When Zim _had_ calmed down and stopped arguing with him, Dib had carefully asked if, at least, he had _liked_ it. The first answer had been no.

         Then a beat, and a wary, frightful stare. Zim had whispered, “Yes... Wait. No. I don’t know. No, I-... I don’t know. It’s none of your business, anyway.” Dib had asked if he could try it back, and Zim had, surprisingly, nodded _.  _ He’d gingerly reached out, held Zim’s face, the weird angles of his jaw line, and leaned forward.

         It hadn’t felt like fireworks, because Zim had weird, sharp teeth, but it hadn’t been bad, either. In fact, it had stirred some warm, yet uncomfortable feelings in places Dib didn’t want them.

        Zim tasted strange, alien, but not unwelcome. In fact, he tasted just a bit sweet.

Dib didn’t fall back asleep that night. A comfortable silence had filled his bedroom; lying next to Zim and neither of them speaking, just staring, staring, staring. Zim allowing Dib to touch his fingers, although they were gloved. Dib allowing Zim to touch his face, wordlessly.

         Their truce had been made years ago, but that hadn’t stopped strange developments from being made in their friendship… Or whatever it was. And since Dib had turned sixteen and his thoughts had churned towards classmates, boy or girl, Zim had always been in his peripheral. This enigma of  _ what if _ . Zim rarely showed much change. In fact, the amount of change that had taken place in the past seven years had seemed to startle him. He hated Dib’s height, the change in his appearance, voice, everything. He hated the change in the skool schedules, the new teachers, new classroom subjects.

Once, Dib had gone on a single date with a girl from class. It had been awkward, and things hadn’t worked out, but Christ, it had taken weeks to hear the end of it from Zim. The date had been on a Friday night and those were _their_ nights. It had been strangely exhilarating to learn Zim could be so jealous and possessive. Dib had caught himself often almost smiling during those arguments.

Dib had brought this up that night. Those stirring emotions, somewhat unwelcome as they were. He’d been quiet, slow at first, until he was rambling, moving his hands a lot and raking fingers through his hair, and Zim was watching him with wide eyes. Wordless still.

“So, what do you feel, then?” Dib had whispered to him where they lay, side by side when he’d quieted down.

“I … Irkens feel… Nothing,” The words had churned out slowly, as though Zim were telling himself this. “But I…” He drifted off. He never finished his sentence and Dib, patient, had allowed that. Clearly, he was overwhelmed. Even in his silence, he looked overworked, like his alien brain was working ten times its usual just to parse whatever was coming out of Dib’s mouth.

         Then, as soon as the sky had begun to shoot through with orange, Zim had abruptly stood up. He claimed he had work to do and places to be before all the other humans woke up, and he left, leaving behind a coat in the process. Dib hadn’t even gotten a chance to fully stand and see him out. He’d just sat there, blinking.

 

* * *

 

The light in the closet flickered once when there came a loud thud from the roof overhead. Zim jumped.

“Just some drunk kids,” Dib said softly, and Zim nodded. His brow was furrowed, his gaze directed at the floor. Another beat passed and the silence remained. “... You just… You’ve never seemed to notice… The things I sa-”

“Of course I’ve noticed!” Zim said it in a rushed, hissing whisper, leaning forward, looking frantic. One of his hands was balled into a tight fist. “You think I haven’t noticed any of your strange, filthy advances? The way you _speak_ is so different, you look at me strangely all the time! Do you think Zim is _stupid_? I have noticed! It comes off of your in waves, Dib, _waves!_ I’ve always noticed your- your- useless, f-filthy- _emotions!_ ” He’d come so close, he’d almost climbed on top of Dib. He jammed a claw into his chest, going on, “You hardly hid them, you’re so terrible at lying and hiding things! The absolute worst! I’d be a fool not to see it all! So yes, yes, Dib-Thing, I _have noticed._ Do not tell me I haven’t!”

__ Dib blinked at him, mouth halfway agape. Zim was breathing hard. He hadn’t known any of that! Zim had given no indication of knowing anything! Nothing at all!

       “Why hadn’t you… Told me, then?” He asked slowly.

Zim sputtered, his face bright with a pink-ish blush. Dib could see sweat beading at his wide forehead “T-tell you what?  _ What exactly?!  _ What could- what could I have- You would have asked me to reciprocate your  _ sticky _ , sickly desires-”

        “Well, forgive me for thinking there was  _ something  _ there when I woke up and you were fucking  _ kissing me! _ ”

         For an instant, Zim looked like he might lunge at him again. Instead, he lifted his balled fist, seemed unsure what to do with it as it trembled terribly before bringing it down onto the carpet beside Dib, hard.

         “I-... I am finished with this useless conversation.” He announced finally, crawling backwards off of Dib. He drew his knees up, looking up and around the closet. His eyes looked tired and half-mast. “When will this awful game be over? I’m growing tired of it.”

         Dib had forgotten about the game entirely. It was really quite low on his priorities list at the moment. He sat up and drew his legs inward. The closet fell silent again. He couldn’t even focus on the sounds from outside.

         “It isn’t useless,” Dib said quietly. Zim ignored him. “It isn’t. You’re not used to this stuff, okay? Relax. And I’m not either, I- I’m just as worried! If it makes you feel better, I’m a mess, too! I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.” Zim still didn’t reply, but he did wrap his arms around his legs. Dib sighed.

         “Can I come closer?”

         “No.”

         “Zim, please,”

         “Fine.”

         Relieved, Dib came closer. Zim was tense, his arms tight around his knees. He kept his head turned to the door as though he expected it to open at any moment now. Dib situated himself just in front of Zim, who’s cheeks were growing warmer.

        “Your... Human romantic rituals are all so ridiculous and impossible to understand. You are needlessly difficult. It’s annoying.”

        “ _ You’re _ needlessly difficult.”

        “No, I’m not-” Zim began to snap.

        “Zim, relax,” Dib reached out. Zim flinched when his palm felt the smoothness of his cheek, but he didn’t bat him away. He brought his other hand up, too, cupping Zim’s face. “I’m not planning anything weird. I’m being honest with you,”

“Whatever,” Zim grumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

       “What are your Irken rituals for romance, then, Zim?”

        “We don’t have any,”

        “O-oh,” he wilted a bit, “But you. You… Feel-”

        “Yes,  _ I feel,  _ please, Dib enough, enough asking that question-” Zim turned to face him and Dib leaned forward, his hands still holding his face. Their lips met clumsily, Zim in the middle of speaking. He gasped and Dib felt teeth momentarily against his own lips, sharp and inhuman.

        He expected Zim to bite him. Instead, the Irken was just still. Dib took the chance to slide his tongue into Zim’s open mouth and instantly the tension flooded out, Zim loosening as one then two gloved hands flew out to grab Dib’s face. He didn’t seem to know where to put his hands, moving them to the sides of Dib’s head to his hair, his shoulders, his back, a flurry of motions.

        Zim was warm, and his skin was soft. Almost like velvet. His teeth knocked against Dib’s and he was panting and  _ kissing him back.  _ Desperate and eager, trembling.

Against him, Zim shuddered, whimpering against Dib’s lips. He thought he heard him say some semblance of his name, and Dib was reeling, mind fluttering off to somewhere high and bright. Zim had opened his legs, allowing Dib to lean further over him, tipping him over just a bit until his PAK legs instinctually let themselves out, gripping the ground so he didn’t fall all the way backwards. One of Dib’s hands had roamed to Zim’s middle and it lingered there, moving around to his waist, the middle of his back to draw him nearer-

Zim broke the kiss, not too ungracefully and said, “Enough. Enough, enough, enough enoughenough-”

“A-ah, sorry, I’m sorry, Zim I-”

“No. N-no apologies. It’s. It is. Fine.” Zim was looking away, breathing heavily. Dib almost grinned with relief; he wasn’t shoving him away, not closing himself off to wherever it was he went. He wasn’t insulting him. He wasn’t yelling. That was good. That was a huge step. Dib smiled and watched Zim glance at him once, twice, very quickly.

“Are you alright?” Dib asked, climbing for the second time that night off of Zim.

Zim cleared his throat, beginning to cross his arms over his chest. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I said _yes_ , didn’t I, Dib-stink?” He glared at him, but it was missing that feral gleam.

“It doesn’t stop at this, does it?”

“What?”

“This isn’t the end of this discussion. This isn’t- the last time we do this-”

“No.” Zim huffed. “No. It is not.” Dib couldn’t withhold the grin that spread into his face. He’d been sixteen when he’d caught himself watching Zim in the classes they shared together for the first time. Now where were they? Zim tried to ignore him, almost pouting. “Whatever it is you are doing with your mouth right now, pathetic Dib, it’s disgusting and annoying,”

“We’ll go really slow, okay?” Dib said, “So don’t worry-”

“It is _you_ who should be worried! Now please, I demand we leave this closet! It smells!”

“Oh,” Dib blinked. Oh yeah. They were in the closet (in more ways than one). “Hey. It’s- it’s been way over seven minutes, hasn’t it?”

“Yes!”

Dib turned to the door. The red light from the lava lamp outside shone underneath the door. Dib crawled forward and bent to peer beneath it. “What the hell?” He stood up, gripped the doorknob. Turned it. It fell open a little too heavily and Dib stumbled a step forward.

The bedroom was empty.

The door to the room was cracked, and the party went on outside. The music still drummed through the house and he could hear conversation and laughter just outside.

“They’ve left,” said Zim behind him.

Somewhere, Dib wanted to be angry, because this felt like some long, elaborate prank on the both of them. When had everyone left? He hadn’t heard them go, but then again, he’d been… Preoccupied.

Whatever. Fuck them. Who cared. Dib turned. Zim had stood up and he lingered, holding his arms, in the middle of the closet.

“Do you wanna… Go by your house and watch a movie? I’m sorta sick of this place.”

Zim was staring at the floor almost guiltily. “Yes,”

        Dib smiled at him. He looked so shy. It wasn’t a bad look on him, but it was very, very different. Dib held out a hand, tentatively, and Zim eyed it with a troubled stare. A second passed, and Dib could hear the beginning of another song downstairs. A burst of laughter. A glass bottle break. A car passing outside on the street. When Zim took his hand, he slid three claws between his fingers. He would have to get use to such awkward hand holding.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *returns to AO3 after 10 months without an update* *posts Invader Zim shit*
> 
> I watched this stupid series as a kid and recently got back into it after my bf told me he hadn't seen it before. Now I've marathoned the entire thing, watched several script readings online, and am now waiting for some shitty Gir backpack to come in the mail. God. What happened. What year is it?


End file.
